


Perfect John

by Nines35711



Series: Never Cared [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 17:44:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16644851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nines35711/pseuds/Nines35711
Summary: There's a man on his couch. He's too nice, too perfect. He hates him.





	Perfect John

**Author's Note:**

> A continuation of the "Never Cared" series. This can be read on its own, but I would appreciate you reading the other two first.

There was a man on his couch.

He wore a graphic t-shirt for some game and jeans.

The man waved. He ignored him and went to his room.

She said he was her boyfriend.

He said he was a pest.

The man didn’t drink beer, which severely disappointed him.

The man didn’t smoke, which irritated him to no end.

He was perfect.

He was better.

Insults were hurled, he ran. Ran, ran until he fell to the pavement.

He couldn’t breathe.

She loved the man and it hurt.

She went out with the man once a week.

She didn’t do that with him.

 

_ There was a man on his couch. _ Okay, it wasn’t really his couch, hadn’t been since he was five. His point stood. This man had made himself at home on his couch. Something was playing on the television, some action movie or whatever. It looked pointless. He immediately hated the man.

 

_ He wore a graphic t shirt for some game and jeans. _ The shirt was faded, but mostly unstained. It made him feel like a homeless person in his hole-filled sweatshirt, which was definitely stained with more than just his blood. The jeans were also clean, like he’d just bought them.

 

_ The man waved. He ignored him and went to his room. _ It was a polite wave. It pissed him off for reasons he couldn’t explain. He huffed and stormed down the hall. The man’s smile fell as he walked away. Good, he thought angrily.

 

_ She said he was her boyfriend. _ His mother introduced them twenty minutes later by dragging him back to the living room. She said his name was John, that they were going on a date tonight. Something very small and deep in his chest hurt when she said they would be going out to dinner. He ignored it in favor of grumbling.

 

_ He said he was a pest _ . John stayed over almost every night. He was starting to question if this man even had his own house. He ate their food, watched their television, took up his space on the couch. That little bit of hurt in his chest grew every time he thought about it.

 

_ The man didn’t drink beer, which severely disappointed him. _ It would have provided an excuse for her to drop him, and it would have also provided the much-needed alcohol to deal with the situation. It wouldn’t have been whiskey or rum, but it was better than that fruity wine his mom had a glass of once a month.

 

_ The man didn’t smoke, which irritated him to no end. _ He hadn’t had a cigarette in two months and it made him feel anxious. If he could leave the house past six o’clock, maybe he could do something to get a pack, but a strict curfew was in place. The police even knew to look for him on Friday night. Maybe if the man smelled bad, he could complain and make him leave.

 

_ He was perfect _ . John was absolutely perfect in every way. He was a gentleman, he didn’t drink or smoke, didn’t do any drugs. He was always dressed in clean clothes, and never got stains on his shirt when he ate extra saucy chicken wings from the corner store. He was always on time. He was too perfect and he hated it.

 

_ He was better _ . Did he regret what he’d said to his mother while going through withdrawal? Sometimes. Other times he wished that everything he said was true. Then he could blame his hurt on that. That she was having a good time when he hated her so much. It made him want to break something, knowing that there was someone she liked more.

 

_ Insults were hurled. He ran, ran, ran until he fell on the pavement. _ He’d called her a cunt, said John was a piece of shit who had to be hiding something. He threw plates on the ground and cut his feet on the shards accidentally. When she was crying and begging for him to stop, he fled out the back door. There were little bits of ceramic embedded in his heels but he kept going. A trail of blood followed him, diluted by the rain. Eventually, he couldn’t keep going and tumbled to the ground. He skinned his knees and elbows as he cried on the ground.

 

_ He couldn’t breathe. _ His chest burned and it felt like something was gluing his throat shut. His mouth gaped like a fish out of water. Everything ached and his head screamed at him. His lungs tried to make him cough, but not much could get out.

 

_ She loved the man and it hurt. _ It hurt to see her so happy with John. It hurt that he couldn’t even make her smile. He was worthless, nothing to her. Not even when he was discharged and brought home did she offer him anything. Not even the corner of her mouth. It made him cry harder.

 

_ She went out with the man once a week. _ Every Friday, like clockwork, his mother and John went on a date. That was why an officer patrolled the street past six. That was why he found himself wanting to do worse and worse things. First, he wanted to cut himself, then realized it wouldn’t feel better. Then he wanted to do meth, or coke, or heroin. Anything that would make him even remotely happier. She never noticed. Of course, she didn’t. Why would she? She had John.

 

_ She didn’t do that with him. _ He admitted he was jealous. He wanted dinner at some cozy diner, wanted everything he’d missed out on in the past ten years. Instead, John got all the attention. Perfect John and his perfect clothes, so much better than him. He sobbed into someone’s shoulder as he was carried to a vehicle.

  
_ Perfect John and his perfect personality. _ He sat in bed, feet bleeding sluggishly into his bandages. He didn't move. When John came in and offered him a bit of their dinner, he told him to go fuck himself. He was so exhausted. He fell asleep to someone talking gently to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments are appreciated. I will not respond to hate. I will respond to constructive criticism.
> 
> If you need to talk or ask me something, please contact me at jruger2003@gmail.com


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